Jarred
by honest.hypocrite
Summary: Lizzie Bennet returns home after her first year of college, as she must deal with the tragedy of Georgiana Darcy.
1. Chapter 1

I.

Lizzie Bennet was back from school for the summer. The first year of college had drawn out shapely dark circles under her already tired brown eyes. And she held herself meeker as she carried her luggage to the front door. Her fingers were more nervous. The rims of her glasses were chipped. Her entire apparel was out of place, like she had not meant to come here. In all earnest though, she hadn't meant to be at Longbourn. She was going to work all summer. But at the last minute she had refused the job. It had been an inexplicable thing, one moment she was calling for an interview, the next she was canceling the same appointment.

It wasn't the fact that she had wanted to rest. She just did not want to start working so early. Her friends judged her for it. Twenty is a very reasonable age to start working, they said. But she did not listen. Instead, she came home.

Her room was the same as always; not her room. It was shared with her elder sister, Jane, who was currently out. She had a job in town, just thirty miles away.

Jane had evidently taken possession of the room by marking it as hers with all her items of clothing and little knickknacks. There was no trace of Lizzie.

She yawned into her open fist. She liked it that way.

As she sat down on her bed and felt the weight of her body sink into the worn out mattress, she had a vision of her last night on campus.

One of her mates, namely Wickham, had brought his girlfriend to the last party of the year.

They'd all gotten very drunk, except her and other more preoccupied people and some had gone to bed to shed the academic skin, while others had gone outside to romp through the idyllic green areas surrounding the campus.

At five a.m., when Lizzie was just getting herself to bed, she heard a piercing scream coming from outside and she saw a beautiful, blonde girl running across the courtyard, her hair blowing in the wind, her tiny dress almost in shreds and her shoes gone missing. She was crying.

Later that morning she found Wickham had misbehaved. And her name was Georgiana Darcy.

The name rang hollow to her. However, she could never forget the tear-stained, shattering expression on her face as she ran like the flight of a bird, her feet dragging behind her body, her breath shallow and her cries as binding as the waves swallowing everything in their path.

It would be her lasting memory for all summer.

She had seen Wickham at the station, but she had not said a word. She could have gone up to him and spat in his face, or punch him roughly in the nose. Or she could have pushed him in front of a train.

She shook her head. She could never do that.

But she had seen better men die under the rails.

There was a ring at the door, short and effective, because it snapped her up.

She found the sun slicing up half of the girl's face. She was standing in the doorway with a purse wrapped around her shoulder like a snake.

It was her youngest sister, Lydia.

'Home already, Liz? We weren't expecting you till Sunday.'

* * *

><p>At dinner, the family had cake as a way of celebrating the prodigal daughter's return. Everyone wanted to hear stories. Jane had bought Lizzie a new alarm clock and Kitty and Mary had single-handedly done all her laundry. It was starting to smell like home.<p>

The rooms had grown softer and smaller. Her family was growing somehow, even though her mother had not announced any unexpected offspring.

She was becoming an old woman.

Lizzie stared at her clean-white plate and the cutlery drawing circles into the tablecloth.

'Something terrible – ' she began, meaning to tell them about Georgiana Darcy, but she swallowed her words quickly and grabbed the bowl of steaming potatoes.

She realized it would be cruel to speak about it, especially at dinner with her family, because nothing would come out of it. They would think it over in tragic terms but would, nevertheless, move on with a grieving sigh, meaning to say 'such and such things happen in life, but there is little we can do about them'.

But she would be betraying Georgiana if she agreed to the idea that nothing could have been done about it.

'So, we hear Professor Reginald has asked you to help him with some studies?' her mother asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand.

'I won't hold my breath. He's said that to other students too. He has to pick. And he probably won't pick me.'

'Negativity, much?' Jane asked, smiling.

'I would say realism. My final paper was not stellar and I am hardly the most qualified,' she replied.

'Still, you have a very good chance of being selected and you should not think yourself out of the competition,' her mother insisted.

'Even if I got the job, I would feel like an impostor.'

'Oh, God, Lizzie, stop saying stupid things,' Kitty complained, pressing her fork into her flat chicken breast.

'Shut up,' Lizzie said affectionately. 'You know nothing about imposture.'

* * *

><p>The greater part of the night, she slept with the pillow wrapped around her head like a shield, mumbling incoherent words from time to time, recalling those moments of clarity when she had read a book and she had gone to the bathroom to cry afterwards. She felt like getting up and doing the same, but she was asleep and she knew she should try keeping her body in the same position, else she'd fall from her bed.<p>

But she secretly made it a note to find Georgiana Darcy. Find her and speak to her, wherever she may be.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

The morning star was a ghastly appearance at the gate rails. It lingered there like a forlorn traveller, seeking water and shelter. Mr. Bennet rose from his bed in the middle of the night and went to check the gardens. He felt something amiss. His sinewy feet trod on the wet soil with the wonder of a child. He sat himself down on a bench in the far left corner of the orchard.

He looked over the fence into the slightly wild – slightly tame strip of yellow-brown land in front of him.

At a first look, everything was still and lifeless.

Then, out of the thick layers of stillness, he saw a young boy, no older than twelve most likely, running almost naked through the bushes, making strange sounds with his mouth.

The view was unexpected, but comforting.

He sighed and almost fell into slumber sitting on the cold hard wood. He was awoken when he heard a yelp and he saw the young boy had fallen in a ditch. He was crying silently. He had probably sprained an ankle.

He lay there for several minutes, accompanied only by the sound of youth howling.

Finally, Mr. Bennet got up and went inside to fetch his boots.

Mrs. Bennet had just woken up.

'Where the devil are you going at this hour?' she asked listlessly.

'A young man is hurt, so I'd better go help him.'

'Is he alone?' she asked, from under the covers.

'I think so. He's also naked. I'll take a quilt.'

'Better take one of your shirts too,' she mumbled.

'Why?'

'To tie his wounds with.'

'Wouldn't it be better to take some bandages?'

'We've run out,' she commented dryly.

Mr. Bennet sighed and sat on the rim of the bed in order to put his heavy boots on.

'You could come and help me,' he suggested.

'I would...' she began reluctantly, 'but I am very tired. He is not awfully hurt, is he?'

'No, not quite.'

'Good then.'

The conversation thus resumed, the elderly man dragged his robust body out of the house and across the charcoaled night. He arrived at the ditch. The young boy had dragged himself out of it and was wailing silently. He held his fingers over his leg, tears flowing freely on his dirty face.

Mr. Bennet wrapped the quilt around him and cradled him in his arms. He took him inside the house.

The young boy uttered a feeble protest, but Mr. Bennet shushed him patiently.

He placed him on the large, cushioned sofa in the living room. He smelt of dung and sheep skin.

Mr. Bennet was going to fetch him a pair of pyjamas, but he realized he would have to be washed first, a feat which he was not up to.

Finally, he abandoned the boy in his house and went to bed.

* * *

><p>Kitty was the first to discover him sprawled over her favourite sofa, quilt fallen over his legs in a most unbecoming way, one hand dragged across the floor like a dagger, his head hidden deep in one of the green cushions.<p>

And she yelled terrified.

The young boy raised his head sharply, blinking surprised. His eyes were like acorn and he couldn't see her very well because the sun was blocking his view. But he smiled impishly, because he realized he was naked and that the girl in front of him was young.

Kitty awoke the entire household.

When Mrs. Bennet finally gave the boy some clothes, she soon observed that he was not at all twelve, as her husband had believed, but rather fifteen or sixteen.

And although he had cried and yelped in pain the previous night, he was now stubbornly silent.

He was taken into the kitchen and given two glasses of water and some bread, butter and jam.

But he was very resilient. He ate in silence and drank in silence. The only thing that betrayed his being awake and conscious was the lopsided smile his cheek had swollen in.

'Are you in shock?' Mr. Bennet asked him. He shook his head.

'Will you speak then?'

He shook his head.

'I can't help you unless you tell me what happened,' he insisted.

The boy grabbed one of the glasses and peered inside in fascination.

'At least let me know your name.'

The boy made a gurgling noise.

'Are you from around here? You couldn't live very far away. Running will only get you so far.'

The boy glared at him. He didn't seem to appreciate the assumption.

'You are very stubborn,' Mr. Bennet said in irritation. 'You ought to show some gratitude.'

The door to the kitchen flew open and Lizzie stepped in, carrying two mugs filled to the brim with brown tea.

When she noticed the strange young boy, she stopped midway between the door and the counter and shifted her weight.

'Who is this?'

Mr. Bennet turned around, his cheeks turning red.

'Oh, it's only a poor lad I found stranded in a ditch.'

Lizzie stared at his sprained ankle. She nodded her head and walked up to them. She pushed one mug in front of the boy's nose.

'Guess you can use that more than others,' she mumbled.

It was not a surprise to her that her father had brought a stranger into the kitchen. He always did the same with stray dogs and cats. It was only a matter of time before he let in a human being. She wondered, though, why he hadn't taken the boy to the hospital.

Then she recalled he hated to drive too much.

She went over to the fridge and noticed the boy was following her with his eyes.

'It's not polite to stare,' she said.

He kept staring.

'Is he deaf? Or mute?' she asked morosely.

'I believe he can hear, but he hasn't spoken a word,' Mr. Bennet explained.

'Ah, he's one of those disturbed people,' she commented dryly. 'I wish they'd all stay in one place.'

'What are you saying dear?' he asked, confused.

She looked out the window and saw her sister Jane watering the gardenias. Lydia had just come from behind and scared the living Jesus out of her.

Lizzie sighed and ran a hand across her face in an attempt to shake out a smile. It wasn't working.

She pushed away her ponytail and walked towards the back door.

'Use the cleaver if he doesn't start talking soon,' Lizzie mentioned to her dad conversationally, pointing at the heavy knife stuck on a chopping board on the surface of one of the suspended cupboards.

Mr. Bennet looked a bit owlish at the moment. He was considering it.

The young boy made a face and held the tea mug to his chest.

* * *

><p>'We have to go into town real soon. I'm scared the girls will shoot me if I don't drag you along. They've been asking too many questions,' Jane explained to her sister as they walked down the main country road, wearing silly straw hats pushed and glued to their heads.<p>

'They're curious how you're managing college all by yourself.'

'Didn't you tell them I have always managed everything moderately well?'

Oh, and if you've been expelled yet,' Jane continued, ignoring her comment. 'They seem to think you have a problem with authority,' she explained.

'I don't have a problem with authority. I have only been to the police station once. To press charges against someone who was peeing behind the college library,' she said. 'He was leaving yellow traces across the wall like some naïf painter. I had to put a stop to it.'

Jane stretched her arms wide into the air.

'Did you see dad's new acquisition?' she asked, narrowing her eyes as the sun flipped the hem of her straw hat.

Lizzie shrugged her shoulders. It's not like she would think about it. She never let herself think too much about family in terms of 'family.'

The bright lands around their shoulders looked ready to catch a flame.

'He's really odd, isn't he?' Jane commented.

'Kitty found him naked on the couch. Imagine the shock,' Jane added.

The dusty winds coming from the top of the hills rolled over their feet like tiny ants. Lizzie looked down and wiped the sweat on her nape. She looked at the invisible salty droplets, evaporating before she knew they were there. It was hard for her to look at something without it dying into the air. She had no chance to look back on it.

And it was the same obsession that was caving at her stomach now.

No one ever saw anyone truly naked. Except by force.

Yes, the only time you had to become aware of the crude, cruel, cavernous nakedness was when you were forced.

'I hope dad disposes of him,' Lizzie replied sincerely.

'Oh, Liz, he's a young boy, not an object! Dispose is such a nasty word. I'm sure he's just a poor kid away from home.'

'You can't trust kids,' Lizzie said mechanically.

Jane mumbled something incoherently.

'I mean he _might_ be away from home - so dad should just take him home then. Just like I said,' Lizzie reiterated, feeling uneasy.

Jane slipped her hand into Lizzie's.

'He will.'

When they returned from their walk, Jane told Lizzie to write an email to her professor.

'We should go into town instead,' Lizzie mumbled. 'I'd prefer that.'


End file.
